


In Dreams He Came

by crackinthecup



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, One Shot, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-18
Updated: 2014-11-18
Packaged: 2018-02-26 04:07:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2637428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crackinthecup/pseuds/crackinthecup
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Some nights he came to me in green light and in words of death, shattering my dreams and damning me to half-forgotten nightmares." Years after the war, Harry Potter still has dreams about Lord Voldemort. But perhaps they are no longer the nightmares of long ago ...</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Dreams He Came

It was whimpering tonight. I assumed it had not the strength to cry. I strode over to the bench, no longer hesitant through force of habit. My steps were soundless upon that gleaming floor. As I crouched low to reach it, it struck me, as it always did—and, curiously, always with the same intensity—how very much out of place it looked amidst that white, white expanse of nothingness. I grabbed it about the waist and hoisted it out from under the bench, pressing it to my breast gently, soothingly. My revulsion had long since left, even though it had been quite some time since he had last come to me under this particular guise.  
  
Some nights he came to me in green light and in words of death, shattering my dreams and damning me to half-forgotten nightmares. Other nights it was a breath of wind, sweeping high and cold through the darkest corners of my mind. Others still held tenderness and a lover's sweet, meaningless promises. Tonight he chose to come as a baby.  
  
I sat on the bench with the baby Horcrux still nestled against me, skeletal, bleeding fingers twisted in my pajama top and overlarge head hidden in the crook of my neck. It had stopped whimpering. I crooned to it, sang strange, old lullabies I could never recall in my waking hours. It was odd how they, too, came to me in these nightly visitations, came with a distant, warm female voice and a glimpse of flaming red hair, came with words of magic and love.  
  
Before my very eyes, the baby Horcrux began to transform: its crimson skin turned smooth and pale, its flat, bald head became the head of a baby with a mop of black hair perched on top, its fingers shortened, its torso widened. I was left holding Tom Marvolo Riddle, the infant version.  
  
He appeared to be asleep. I watched him fondly, as I always did, watched his soft regular breaths, his round, pink cheeks, his small, plump body. I smiled to myself a secret, indulgent smile. It was at times like this that a bittersweet tenderness, so beautiful, so fragile, blossomed in my heart, made me hug Tom tighter to my chest. I thought, very briefly, of Hogwarts. He always reminded me of Hogwarts when he came to me as a baby. The soft, white-blue light of dawn bathing the quiet grounds, now in full bloom—the scent of lilacs drifting into the castle, sweet and fresh and pure—the ancient stone walls, with their musty smell and flickering torches—cool air whipping my hair while flying over Hogwarts on my Firebolt—Hermione, young, brilliant, and vivacious, explaining with a long-suffering sigh why Apparition is not possible within Hogwarts—Ron bounding down the Great Hall, shoveling half the food on the table into his mouth while still complaining of hunger ...  
  
A sob tore through my throat. Tears streamed freely down my face, but they soaked into a cloak that had not been there a moment ago, my suddenly unburdened hands clasping its owner's bony shoulders. I wept and wept over I knew not what, all the while inhaling a scent of warm fires and rain and books. And then, drifting from everywhere and nowhere, echoing in that empty vastness and whispering through the folds of my mind, a high voice spoke gently, softly: "Harry ..."  
  
My eyes flew open. The room was still dark, though a faint white light was creeping through the chink in the curtains. Ginny's breath was loud and steady in the silence. I sighed. The bed creaked as I swung my legs over the side. I padded as quietly as possible to the door. A cup of coffee was in order. Yet even the earthy aroma of coffee could not dispel the peculiar idea that I had been flying on my Firebolt again, if only for a few precious seconds. Nor could its strong taste help me suss out the meaning of the tenderness that tore at my heart.


End file.
